‘They haven’t run away, sir.’
Pot-au-Feu must know that his escapades were over. His hostages were gone, the Convent was taken, and now a Battalion of British infantry was in his valley. The sensible thing, Sharpe thought, was for the deserters to run again, to flee eastwards or northwards, but they had stayed. Pot-au-Feu’s troops were visible on the Castle ramparts and in the earthworks at the foot of the watchtower. Kinney shook his head. ‘Why have they stayed, Sharpe?’
‘Must think he can beat us, sir.’
‘Then the man must be disabused.’ Kinney dwelt lovingly on the last word. ‘I don’t fancy any of my men dying today, Major. It would be a terrible tragedy on Christmas Day.’ He sniffed. ‘I’ll roust the village with bayonets, then I’ll have a chat with our man at the Castle to see if he wants to surrender. If he wants to do it the hard way… ‘ He looked at the watchtower. ‘I’d be grateful, in that case, for the loan of a Rifle Company, Major.’
It was kind of Kinney to wrap an order in such politeness. ‘Of course, sir.’
‘Let’s hope it won’t come to that. By then young Gilliland should have arrived.’ The Rocket Troop was an hour behind the 113th, delayed by a loosened wheel-rim. Kinney smiled. ‘Two of those fireworks up their backsides might persuade them to throw themselves on our tender mercies.’ Kinney called for his horse, grunted as he pulled his considerable weight into the saddle, then grinned down on Sharpe. ‘They probably haven’t run, Sharpe, because they’re all blind drunk. Well then! To work! To work!’ He gathered his reins, then stopped, staring over Sharpe’s head. ‘My word! My word!’
Josefina was in the Convent gateway, being handed down by a Sir Augustus Farthingdale who looked quite different. The peevishness was gone, replaced by a simpering attention to the gorgeous woman who dazzled Kinney with her smile. There was a wealth of pride in Farthingdale’s voice, the pride of possession. ‘Colonel Kinney? The honour of meeting my lady wife? My dear, this is Colonel Kinney.’
Kinney removed his hat. ‘Milady. We would have marched halfway round the globe to rescue you.’
Josefina rewarded him with parted lips, dipped eyelashes, and a pretty speech that complimented both Kinney and his troops. Sir Augustus watched it with pleasure, enjoying the admiration in Kinney’s eyes, approving as his ‘wife’ walked with small steps to pet Kinney’s horse. When she was away from his side he plucked at Sharpe’s sleeve. ‘A word with you.’
Had she told him that Sharpe had known her? It seemed unbelievable, but Sharpe could think of no other explanation why Sir Augustus should draw him aside, out of Josefina’s earshot. The Colonel’s face was furious. ‘There are naked men in there, Sharpe!’
Sharpe almost smiled. ‘Prisoners, sir.’ He had ordered a work-party of deserters to continue the hard slog of boring loopholes in the huge walls. ‘Why the hell are they naked?’
‘They disgraced their uniforms, sir.’
‘Good God, Sharpe! You let my wife see this?’ Sharpe bit back a retort that Josefina had probably seen more naked men than Sir Augustus ever had, instead he gave a mild answer. ‘I’ll see that they’re covered, sir.’You do that, Sharpe. Another thing.’
`Sir?’
‘You haven’t shaved. You’re hardly in a position to talk about disgracing uniforms!’ Farthingdale turned abruptly, and his face changed to an indulgent smile as Josefina approached. ‘My dear. Do you really want to stay ou tin this cold?’
‘Of course, Augustus. I wish to see Colonel Kinney’s men punish my oppressors.’ Sharpe almost smiled again at the last word, but she had chosen it well for Sir Augustus. He straightened up, looking fierce, and nodded.
‘Of course, my dear, of course.’ He looked at Sharpe. ‘A chair for her Ladyship and some refreshment, Sharpe.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Not that there’ll be much of a fight.’ Sir Augustus was talking to Josefina again. ‘They won’t have the stomach for a fight.’
An hour later it seemed as if Sir Augustus was right. The deserters who had stayed in the village fled with their women and children as Kinney’s Light Company went in from the north. They fled, unmolested, across the valley floor and threaded the thorn bushes towards the watchtower. Two dozen were on horseback, muskets slung on their shoulders and sabres visible at their sides. Madame Dubreton and the other two hostages from the French army came out for a while, took tea with Josefina, but the cold drove them back into the Convent that had been their prison. Sharpe had asked Madame Dubreton what she had thought when she saw her husband in the upper gallery of the inner cloister.